Hello
by jamesthestagwhore
Summary: There's no time to laugh or touch or know or even say goodbye.


**Hello**

Hello, Stranger. I have to wonder if you truly know all the things you think you know. I'm almost certain that your hair is larger than your brains. You can stop brandishing your imaginary swords and pretending to know anything about anything. There's so much you have to learn, Stranger. There's so much I have to learn about you.

Hello, Potter. I thought it might be nice to meet you, to meet the person behind the smirks and the swagger. I thought that the person behind it all would be better. How foolish of me to think that the puppet master did not put himself into the puppets. You are exactly who you appear to be: cruel, manipulative, and arrogant. Tell me again, what is it I'm supposed to find attractive about you? The way you tease and bully others? I have to tell you, Potter, how I can't think of a single redeemable quality about you. For a second I think that maybe I've upset you. Again I was wrong. Potter, I swear I can't stand another second of you smirking at me, or babbling like an idiot, or trying so very hard to make me laugh.

Hello, James. Tell me, James, why have you been hiding from me for so many years? Did I frighten you away? Don't you dare return to the shadows and let that bloody Potter enjoy the sunlight. He's got nothing on you. James, you have hazel eyes and untameable hair and every second I spend out of your company feels like wasted time. Sit next to me always, walk with me always, laugh with me always. James, I'm so happy that you've finally shown your face. I've been missing your friendship for so long and I didn't even know it. How awful is that? Wait, James, don't go just yet. I'm scared to let you go. We just said hello surely it's not time for you to go. If you leave me, I'll be so terribly cross with you. James, is it too soon for us to fall in love?

Hello, Love. Please never let go of my hand. I've never really thought about hands very much. They've never much appealed to me as body parts, but I can't stop clutching yours in mine. Your hands are something else, Love. They make me feel safe. They make me feel giddy. You like my hands too, Love. I know you do. You link our fingers together under the desk, you kiss my palm by the fireside, you lead me through secret passageways. Love, I swear I'll die if you ever let go of my hand. Our hands are so young, Love, but you don't think that matters. You say they're wise enough for rings and I have to agree. You know, if those hands of yours didn't grow from such beautifully bony wrists I don't think I'd love you half as much.

Hello, Husband. Do you know how good that name tastes? Husband, I'll have to call you Husband every second of every day we spend together. You smile against my mouth when I whisper it now, will you do the same tomorrow? How about next week or the year after that? When we're shrivelled, incontinent, and grey, will you still smile against my mouth when I call you Husband. Husband. Husband. Husband. I think I shall have to call you that forever.

Hello again, Stranger. I don't think I know you at all. You lie in the place where my husband once stood, can you tell me where on earth he has gone? I'm going to have to have a word with him when he gets back here. He can't just go running out on me and let a stranger come and rot on my staircase. Stranger, you look so much like my husband it's unsettling. You have the same hair, the same glasses, and the same bony wrists. But still I know that you are not him. To be him you'd have to smirk and babble and make me laugh so hard that I even shed some tears. I know that you must be a stranger, for something so still and compact could hardly hold in my husband. He'd have to emerge in sparks as he so often did. Does. Still does. I'm so sorry, Stranger. What a terrible first impression I must be making right now. It's so impolite of me to cry.

I shouldn't have lingered this long, but I had to meet you and at least say hello. I'll just say hello to you, Stranger. I'm sorry but I really have to go. There's no time to laugh or touch or know or even say goodbye.

* * *

AN: Sorry if this made you sad. It made me sad to write it. If it didn't make you sad then sorry for failing as a writer :P

Reviews are always utterly lovely


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